Surviving Katrina Before and After

By Dubes 52

Within myself I empathise with the main character who I share some similarities with, however in other factors we are worlds apart yet still I felt the plight of his anguish. This is a prolific story of an African American boy/man growing up in the Southern States, whom not only overcame a number of adversities in his life but survived to tell his tale. Some of his trials and tribulations were self-inflicted, but a large percentage as you will see was out of his definitive control. Yet throughout all his ordeals in one way or another he fought the fight to persevere, not always in the moral or ethical manner at times more frequently than most succumbing to human weaknesses. Forced into the onslaught of Katrina which he could have so easily avoided if not for sheer stubbiness, and escaping certain situations by a trifling margin of good fortune. Obviously if he could go back and change some of his indiscretions, in a heartbeat he would, but regrettably none of us get a second chance. At the end of it all he can only hope to emerge with a degree of dignity, able to face his accusers head held high without humiliation and indignity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Apr 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493101382

Dubes 52

I do not regard myself as an accomplished writer compared to so many well versed successful novelists of today and bygone years, seeing that this is only my second book published. Nevertheless, I felt that my personal input and story line had a part to play, and hopefully a place in the hall of so many other great fiction writers before me. I got an enormous pleasure constructing the story line and the other associated characters; I endeavored to build up an in-depth profile that could be related to by my readers. Leroy’s personality is defined by his actions, which in some ways may relate to me; therefore, I do pray this will not translate any aspect of acrimony against my persons.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Dubes 52.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4931-0137-5

Ebook 978-1-4931-0138-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/31/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

0-800-056-3182

www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Preface

Induction

Chapter 1 Disrespect To My Persons (Early To Teen Years)

Chapter 2 Turmoil Era

Chapter 3 Disrespect To Others (Brutal Confrontation)

Chapter 4 Reintegration And Unification

Chapter 5 Double Tragedy

Chapter 6 Opposite Attraction

Chapter 7 Consequences Of My Actions

Chapter 8 Presumed True Love

Chapter 9 The Berlin Wall In My Bedroom (Invisible Emotional Barriers)

Chapter 10 Discipline Within Work

Chapter 11 Anxiety On Attaining Fifty

Chapter 12 Trepidation During And After The Storm (Surviving Hurricane Katrina New Orleans 2005)

Chapter 13 Loss Of Family And Life

Chapter 14 The Unexplainable Lack Of Support And Abandonment!

Chapter 15 Rescue And Expectation

Chapter 16 Where Do I Go From Here?

Chapter 17 Reunified Shockwave

Chapter 18 Deliberation

Chapter 19 Emotions From The Beginning Of Time

Summary

DEDICATION

Three people who are mentioned in the following statements below significantly helped me considerable to complete this book. My gratitude is beyond words can say, but without which it would have been like an unfinished painting. Ones own thoughts in your head only truly materializes when positive feed back from others reinforces your concept, this then urges you on to expand the work as such.

I would like to officially thank My cousin Anita Skerritt for reading the draft after it was initially edited by my publishers and making a number of unforeseen amendments not picked up. Although going through her own medical problems devoted time and effort to assist me. Basic things that as the writer I would never have picked up on, it was refreshing to have a fresh pair of eyes scanning my work.

Secondly my eternal appreciation goes out to my good friend Roderick’s wife Lillette Denton who painstakingly went over the book reading at her own pace ensuring she observed the story in its correct context. This for me was the final assessment that invariable allowed me to expand on sentences, and reword a number paragraphs. Sending me weekly sections that needed rewording or expanding on. Despite having started a new demanding job which ultimately appeared to consume her, yet she took time out to fit me in her busy schedule.

Lastly but by no means least a chance meeting of an acquaintance having only met briefly in the Supermarket where I was working, his name on his business card Paul Gleeson an Engineer of sorts. We struck up a meaningful conversation which broadened my horizons in respect to the fact that he actually lived through the storm. we corresponded by e-mail and by phone which dramatically added substance to certain aspects I never considered, this in itself created other far reaching dimensions to my book.

PREFACE

HOW CAN I begin to explain those immense tantalizing thoughts that overwhelmed my mind to which I felt compelled to write this story? I can only describe it as though I was driven by an unseen force propelling me.

I asked myself did these thoughts emanated from deep within my own subconscious or if I was simply guided by a former spirit. Strangely enough, the majority of my inspirations occurred early in the mornings, preventing me from going back to sleep. The phrase ‘no rest for the wicked’ springs to mind as I recall how I tossed and turned, never managing to settle until I got up and wrote down my latest vision; only then did a sense of calm infuse my congested uneasy head, allowing me to drift off.

Whether I had help with this assignment or not, I feel an inner feeling of fulfillment and somewhat proud to be directly linked to the accomplished work, hoping that many others will take some measure of gratification also from the main characters’ ordeal. Under different circumstances, and in another life, this could easily be you or your son; when the dice is thrown, so many of us have no input or control what it lands on!

Ultimately when we are conceived in that spark of life, in itself a crowning moment of creations clout, is our destiny imprinted therein? I think not but a debatable thesis when you hear such comments as, ‘He is a bad-un’ or ‘He can’t help it, he’s from corrupt stock.’ Those typical comments insinuate a lack of personal control; I, on the other hand, am reluctant to go along with this conclusion. Choice has to be determined by an individual whether he/she take a positive/negative, good/bad direction, the final solution will be clear to see by the transparent actions taken!

INDUCTION

IT IS STATED that each man or woman has at least one good story to tell. I cannot be sure if this is mine, but certain ideas and innermost feelings in my head needed to be translated on paper before fading away. At any given time in your life, I believe we take a pathway that gives off unique feelings and a thought process that will never be repeated, once surpassed regrettably lost to you, invariably gone for eternity.

Hence my words immortalized for all to see and share, hopefully grasping some of those precious moments, maybe assisting others to feel and understand not only part of my make-up but hopefully their own. In doing so, enhance others to ascertain a greater wellbeing, though the torrid jungle of life filled with obstacles to overcome, failure to comply is not necessarily an option, but why make things more difficult for one’s self than needs to be.

I am by no means an expert in giving advice or guidance to others, but if only one small section of my writing helps and assists, then my efforts would not have been in vain. I hope when reading this book that you can form some degree of affiliation with my character and some of the unnecessary self-inflicted tribulations endured.

His personality and self-determination was indeed a major factor in surviving the onslaught, not only growing up under duress but also abiding to authority. A direct insight of what a fierce war actually entails with a barrage of physical pain, along with mental adversity plus emotional affliction.

Overcoming certain preconceived attitudes and internal stigmas, possibly self-induced, in order to give oneself a chance to attain a solid loving and caring relationship.

A valuable lesson that took far too long to come to terms with, due mainly to a bad attitude and stubbornness, I would strongly advise others not to follow the initial example of my main character.

It is a stated fact that no man is an island, and living in a shell withdrawn from human interaction is a definite formula for doom and gloom, as we know lurking behind every contented man is a good woman. Men, who spend a substantial amount of time locked up behind bars for repeated offences, to their detriment, have truly lost the pertinent concept of life in all aspects.

This valuable life we have been entrusted with is a treasured commodity, not to be abused and wasted carelessly; when one exhales that final breath of life, then the game is truly over and done, no opportunity of going back.

If a true believer, then when judgment day befalls us all, we will pay the ultimate penance for the wrongdoings, even then, it will be too late to redeem one’s evil actions. I pray to all that is holy that this is the case, seeing so many diverse religions exist and have practiced the guidelines subscribed.

Committed monks and nuns, who for centuries have devoted their lives to the almighty, it makes logical sense in my mind that their dedication and efforts are not futile.

All the Names of subjects and persons, plus my irrefutable self, within my story that intrinsically had an impact on my life in countless aspects:

CHAPTER 1

DISRESPECT TO MY PERSONS (EARLY TO TEEN YEARS)

MY NAME IS Leroy Robert Wilson Brown; to my close friends I am known as Lee, but from certain other factions that I unwittingly crossed in dissimilar ways, ‘a son of a bitch’ resonates under their breath. My tale stretches from a small youth to a middle-aged man, a proud black man, third or fourth generation from African descendants residing in the southern states of the good old USA.

Disrespect for me was not a stranger. In one form or another, I have had to endure this in abundance most of my life, all the way back from when I entered school at kindergarten level. Perhaps it was in my makeup or just the fact of being the youngest sibling; you tend to fight that much harder just to be acknowledged and maintain your place.

Affectionately known as chocolate drops by my teacher, Ms Pryingly, who took me under her wings more like a favorite pet, tactlessly this whole situation was to my detriment as others within our classroom looked on in resentment. Being one of a kind in the class had a way of drawing attention from all concerned, inquisitiveness or otherwise I could not determine the demand for this surplus curiosity.

Unfortunately, I paid dearly for the abundance of unwarranted affection directed at me to which I was just an unwitting participant in this whole bizarre game of learning social interaction—how to get along with people in general. The jealousy of my transgressors must have contributed to their actions; it must have been conceived that I stole their goodies, from a child’s point of view.

My teacher was a highly motivational individual with forthright concepts; it was not surprising considering her background, as she came from a middleclass suburb, having graduated from university with honors of some description. In reality, we were worlds apart socially and otherwise, but her devotion to what she regarded as her flock of children was paramount. She was in her early twenties, recently married, with no biological child of her own. She came to our town from upstate, the hustle and bustle I believe, of Chicago. I would imagine coming down to earth from the bright lights a little bewildering.

I, on the other hand, came from rather humble beginning; both my mother and father were hard-working people, trying their damned best to make ends meet. In the minds of certain city folks, we probably came across as country bumpkins, but nevertheless, if that’s their point of view, so be it. I can categorically state that pound for pound, in many aspects, we are possibly more self-sufficient; we are used to toiling in the soil, seeing that the land as our best friend, providing a majority of our daily needs. This is dependent on weather prevailing, reaping a good harvest, or a bout of unusual pestilence could ruin the best of hard-working expectation.

When plagued with a bad spell which obliterates your nurtured crops from striving, this is particularly devastating having to watch your efforts literally dwindle before your eyes. Unfortunately, when one is drowning, the harder one struggles in utter panic, it appears the faster one sinks, as if good luck has run out, and everything is against you personally. Equating to quicksand, one needs to keep one’s composure and look for an alternative; survival will only be achieved with a cool head and a practical solution.

In comparison to how well-off people lived, we managed with basic simple items, not surrounded by the latest gadgets, such as a washing machine. We were not even privy to a black and white television in the early days and so made our own contrived forms of enjoyment. This possibly explained why my older siblings were board-game addicts, but our father appeared to be the grand master seeming to be unbeatable. With no form of contraception available in those times, it was just a matter of luck for a woman to become susceptible to bearing a child, and having been indoctrinated into a Christian faith, the contemplation of abortion was not a feasible option.

There were of course the old-wives tales of women drinking a bottle of gin to rid themselves of an unwanted pregnancy, but these were the practices of ungodly people not on the same stance of my parents. With my joyful birth into this already crowded household, it created more of a quandary to an existing bustling surroundings: the fifth child and hopefully the last with no extra funds to share around. However, with the implication of another mouth to feed, I was still welcomed into the fold, and to their credit, they persevered for a period until the burden had become too much to cope with.

My father worked all the hours humanly possible, struggling to provide food and clothing on our backs; this entailed him seeing less of my mother and very little time for the family as a whole. Slavery had seemingly been abolished from bygone times, but in my father’s case, formal vocation passed him by as he did not come home for weeks at a time. Regrettable he was forced to travel further afield in desperation to make ends meet, tirelessly working on demanding plantations, this is where it turned out a few estates were still hiring. The colossal amount of workload generated on some of the larger-than-normal country estates dictated a hefty workforce; even if the pay wasn’t all it should have been, there was little or no option. This situation persisted for a number of years, and our mother did her best to carry on regardless, and my eldest brother, acting the part of a surrogate father to us, pulled his own weight. Regrettably, with the recession, work dried up, and income suffered as a result, which impacted greatly on my father’s already precarious predicament. With limited options available, desperate times called for radical solutions, no matter how much deep anguish it entailed.

My father Gerald, as the leading bread winner for the entire family, was forced to do menial tasks for less than nothing; although a proud man, he had to swallow his pride to put food on the table. My eldest sibling did whatever possible around the district to supplement his father’s income, as every cent earned added to the gluttonous needy pot. No job was too small to tackle or beneath him as long as it paid: in one instance, even emptying a neighbor’s overfilled toilet pit. Only mother herself was allowed to call our father Gerald, which for us was a no-go area as it was deemed disrespectful coming from minors. At that instance in my eyes this strapping hunk of a man looked ten foot tall; justifiably from the standpoint of a small boy it is easy to see the resultant conclusion.

Looking up at a six-foot man, from a young boy’s perception, I was convinced he was a giant, especially with a hero-worshiping mentality. One of five brothers and two sisters, my father came from Louisiana and luckily had a chance meeting with our mother while working at a local job. Whereupon, they struck up an endearing affection for each other, without which the existence of our present family would never had transpired. We were a happy close-knit family standing together in unity whether it amounted to a thick or thin crisis, but at the ripe age of five years old, we went through a huge transition.

I had four elder siblings, three brothers and one sister, all roughly two years apart: my eldest brother (Tony) at this time was fourteen years old, next in line (Franklin) at eleven, then (Anita) nine, and Mathew, seven.

Ironically, with five growing youngsters, we were unfortunately consuming more food than my parents could muster, and the last resort, regrettably, is normally the first offspring to go to the work environment. Although, in reality, I ate the least amount of my entire siblings, nevertheless, it came to pass that I was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.

I did not have a clue that I was the subject that they were brooding over, still running around with not a care in the world, but it was soon to become clear. Like a sacrificial lamb, my loving parents were forced to go against all that was sacred and decided to farm me out to someone who could give me a better opportunity